


Portrait

by Arienek, ClioSelene



Category: One Piece
Genre: Fluff, Other, Ten Years Later, before Marinford, remember and forget not, wise-and-warm Bepo, worried Law
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 03:31:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20941580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arienek/pseuds/Arienek, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClioSelene/pseuds/ClioSelene
Summary: Trafalgar D. Water Law is absolutely sure his memories are going to fade. Bepo gets the perfect idea to overcome that. Of course, it doesn't work at all. But what had to be dealt with, had been dealt with.





	Portrait

**PORTRAIT**

"I will forget Corazon," Trafalgar Law predicted glumly. He tucked his hands into the pockets, pulled his cap down all the way to his nose and kept walking, hunched, upset and in dark thoughts. "It's been ten years. The memories use to blur. A human's brain can store only a limited amount of images. It's biology. You can't escape it. Everything will pale, lose coherence, fade. In the next year, I'm bound to forget half of that. And in the next thirty years, the whole rest. I'll forget Corazon completely. It's biology. I can't escape it."

Bepo was swaying to his sides and walking quickly to keep up with his captain, his ears floppy. Recently, Law had been in a terrible mood, but it was only now that he finally let out what had been gnawing at him. He'd been so frustrated with that whole forgetting thing, that he'd almost guided the ship for some iceberg; fortunately, he'd managed to see the snow swirling over the island and immediately ordered a full astern. In the end, they'd landed in some pleasant port with a festival taking place and people dancing on the streets and selling shashliks in seventeen different tastes. Of course, the happy atmosphere didn't help Law's mood. His hands in his pockets, he was walking around the harbour as gloomy as it had been hateful snow surrounding him instead of colourful bands.

And he kept worrying he would forget.

Forget? Biology? Well. There was no help for biology. As there was no cure to the Amber Lead Syndrome.

"Captain," Bepo muttered "I-... I'm sorry. I'm very, very sorry. But I think you're talking shit."

Trafalgar Law only snorted. He knew all too well how unrelenting were that the rules of human physiology. With time passing, forgetting was as natural as tan with the sun and runny nose with soaking your ass.

"I'll forget Corazon."

He pressed his eyelids tight to stop the tears. It had been just recently that he'd realised that dreadful truth, and it'd fallen on him like a fist of an Elbaf giant. Only shreds would be left - jolly roger, tattoo, feathers - but Cora-san would vanish. It was as if the sun would no longer rise after the night. Law had witnessed so much injustice, and yet he couldn't imagine anything worse than that, anything more horrifying than losing his memories of Corazon. Still, it was what awaited him sooner or later, maybe even very shortly. He was a doctor and had knowledge of all mnemotechnic tricks of this world, but he knew that there was no hope at all: once a memory disappeared from the person's feeble mind, nothing could bring it back. And Cora-san... Law touched his temple with his fingers. It was only here that Cora-san still lived. It was only that left. If he lost him... It was as if he'd discard everything Cora-san had given him. As if he'd betray him, after all! Law would never do so. And yet - there was no escape! The Surgeon of Death closed his eyes and cursed the weak biology of humans. Even Ope Ope no Mi couldn't fight time and complicated mysteries of a brain.

Oh, Cora-san.

Bepo kept casting furtive looks at his captain. Maybe it was a good thing that after all those years Trafalgar Law had imaginary problems instead of real ones. But he was terribly troubled by that. Something had to be done, without doubt. First, the navigator bought himself a shashlik, ate it and licked the stick. Then he bought some sugared pods.

"Look, Captain. They are making pictures here." He shoved a pod in Law's mouth and waved his hand to the left. "Come, we'll make ourselves a picture."

Law chocked on sugar and coughed for a while, trying to find himself in the reality. He didn't quite succeed.

"What?!"

*

In spite of Bepo's hope, it appeared that no-one was making pictures on the yard of the shrine. There was a table with watercolour saucers, and a dignified priestess clad in a cherry-red kimono painting the blessings on the scrolls, due to the customers' request. Law was about to turn back and leave at once. He didn't believe in any blessings. It was in Flevance already that he'd learned there were no gods. However, Bepo's big, watery and begging eyes seemed to have unnatural power. Under their look, the calligraphy master agreed to draw a single portrait for such unusual guests. The boy and his Mink would look really nice against a camellia tree.

"Buuut it's not going to be our portrait!" Bepo waved his paws fervently. "It's not like that, I'm sorry. It's going to be someone else's portrait."

"Ah." The priestess remained silent for a moment. It was obvious she wasn't particularly enthusiastic about the plan, but she didn't want to go back on her word either. "Do you have their photograph? Or a wanted poster, at least?" She subtly informed she'd guessed they were the pirates.

The navigator of the Yellow Submarine rubbed his cheek in abashment. "Unfortunately, we don't have anything... But we remember him perfectly! I mean... Captain remembers."

"Yet," Law muttered.

He didn't like the idea. Both he and the priestess exchanged looks similarly devoid of enthusiasm. And they both yielded under teary hope in Bepo's eyes.

"Okay..."

"We can try..."

Law wasn't happy. He was upset and angry with such a waste of time and energy. He pulled his cap over his forehead, curved grudgingly beautiful lips and folded his arms on his chest, as if he wanted to distance himself from that missed project. Yet, he answered the priestess' every question in a vast and clear manner.

"He was very tall. A real giant. As thin as a rail, long arms, long legs. Fair hair. Well, blond! Such a plain, grain-shade blond. Long bangs over the eyes. No, he had no facial hair. He had a make-up. His nose... Normal. Average. No, no visible scars. Everything healed fast on him. Once he fell asleep with a cigarette, and his hood straps caught fire, then his shirt, too. He waked up with a yell and started to tear the burning fabric along with the skin, and the next morning there was no mark of it. That is, after I sew him the straps. He had two left hands, that moron."

The priestess was taking notes and sketching, and looking more and more scandalized. No wonder since Law enriched his tale with remarks like 'moron', 'mad', 'lunatic', 'irresponsible dork' and 'what did I have with him'. Bepo listened to that absolutely delighted. His wonderful captain, closed like a sour oyster and bristled like a puffy fugu fish, was talking about things lying heavy on him! Even if the portrait itself would look like an elephant buttock, the benefits were already visible.

"Thick, thick hair. And white teeth. He smoked like a chimney, and his teeth didn't turn yellow in the slightest! A freak of nature, that foolish dork. He wouldn't tell the caries even if it'd eaten his brain. But he brushed his teeth at every occasion. And forced me to do so, too. He bought me a mercury-thermometer-shaped toothbrush. I was about to die in a year, so why the hell should I brush my teeth?! I burned that foolish toothbrush with his own matches. In the next shop they had only toothbrushes with the poodles' heads! I were to touch my teeth with a poodle head?! We burned that shop along with the hospital. But it was his fault, he tripped over and dropped some flammable medicaments on its roof. Later, I got a normal toothbrush. A green one, so that it matched the fluoride toothpaste. A normal toothbrush. I hated it."

Bepo listened to it with his eyes like stars and flushing under his fur. At the very thought of that little boy brushing his teeth in the roadside streams, he felt like grabbing his twenty-two years old version and garchu him nicely. But a responsible navigator of a submarine had to check such impulses directed at his captain.

In the meantime, the flush on the priestess's round cheeks deepened too, but of outrage. The woman apparently lost any affection towards the object of her hard work, who had made a little boy a passive smoker, a hospital arsonist and God knew what else.

Bepo giggled under his breath and gave the painter a supportive look. "Maybe we should have a walk around the festival, madam, and you will get the initial project ready?" he suggested quickly. "I think you've enough details for now."

"It's a good idea," she muttered and shook her head over some details of the late Donquixote Corazon. "Come back in half an hour."

It was with a surprising reluctance that Law got up from the stone wall. "Under the right eye! And the heart-patterned shirt!" he reminded the painter sternly.

Bepo grabbed him by the elbow and led away from the yard. Law kept looking over his shoulder as if he tried to see what the priestess was drawing.

"Let's have another shashlik... Or maybe you'd rather have a drink?" the Mink tattled in a bright manner, deliberately ignoring his captain's displeasure. "A cup of sake under the apple tree...?"

"Drink if you want," Law cut his offer short.

In spite of Bepo's efforts, he resisted being taken from the shrine. In the end, he stopped on the pavement and looked back once more.

"I should stay there and keep an eye on her work."

"Why?" the navigator asked innocently.

"What might she know about Corazon!" Law snorted angrily. "I should-..."

"An artist need some space, Captaaain!" Bepo grabbed him by the waist and began to push him towards the food stalls. "We'll be back in half an hour, and you will check how she's doing. And now - a shashlik!"

The Surgeon of Death didn't need to call his operation room. Even without magical word ROOM, a hermetic veil of heavy disapproval surrounded him. Bepo sighed and, his gaze teary, said farewell to the tempting shashliks. If the project were to succeed, the big guns were needed.

"Onigiri with a grilled fish...?" he suggested encouragingly.

Law continued his passive resistance for a moment, but finally he shrugged, tucked his hands into the pockets and cast the last ill look at the drawing priestess.

"What might she know about Corazon...?"

They went for onigiri. Raw salmon for Bepo, grilled tuna for Law. Then Mink bought also some sugared sticks and was now crunching on them. He waited patiently until his captain ceased crushing with his disapproval the stall with freshly baked bread. Trafalgar Law's aversion to baker's good of all kind was well known to the crew of the Yellow Submarine, but the reason behind it was still a mystery. Bepo hoped that in due time Captain would tell about it, too. Now, it was unwise - despite obvious similarities - to treat a man like an oyster. Too much pressure, and even that little honesty Law had managed to muster today would go to waste. No, to open that tightly closed rockhead should be conducted in small steps. Today, the problem to be addressed was the Captain's presumed forgetting. They would talk about the holy war with bread another time.

There was no more of sugared sticks.

Bepo sighed. He loved big slices of bread, with thick layer of honey or jam. But he loved his captain even more. And without any topping, too. He flicked sugar from his fingers and walked towards Law, who was currently glaring at the baker's apprentice and apparently had a well aimed SHAMBLES at the tip of his tongue, ready to swap the stock of the stall for the nearest school of the sea salad.

"Captaaain," the Mink pulled him by the Corazon on the back of his coat. "It's been half an hour."

"Ah!" The holy war with bread was immediately postponed, and Trafalgar D. Water Law tucked his hands into the pockets, then turned on his heel from the stalls. "We're going."

It appeared that the priestess knew much too little about Corazon.

"What is that caricature?!" Law nearly shamblesed the sketch off, enraged by the priestess' vision. "Where are his heart-shaped straps?! Where is his smile?! What's he doing with his hands?! Really, what is that?!"

Bepo, just in case, hid behind the wall. The priestess must have taken vows of calm and patience already, for she met Law's enraged exclamation with acquiescent nods and only slightly barbed answers.

"But he is smiling. In such a polite, inviting manner. We wouldn't like him to grin like a crazy giraffe, would we? As for his heart-shaped straps, I can add them right away. In the front? In the back? For all I know, he's not doing anything with his hands, he just keeps them decently behind his back. Shouldn't he? What do you think he could do there...?"

"Nothing good!" Law ground his teeth. "He doesn't need to grin, but his smile reached from ear to ear! Even if he didn't smile at all! And he lacks little hearts everywhere! He even had heart-patterned braces, but they stayed in the Family hideout. The straps should be hanging! When he took me on his back, I sometimes plaited them or tied the bowlines in them. But here he doesn't have me on his back! The strings must be hanging! And hands, too! He didn't tuck his hands into the belt like his cursed brother. Besides, he wore a black feathers cloak. He didn't fumble behind his back under the feathers! His hands should... Hmm. One with a cigarette and the other in his pocket...? I would... I sometimes let him hold my hand when we walked. He kept pestering me to do so. But... I rarely let him."

A wrinkle on the priestess' forehead deepened. Apparently, she already had a very strong opinion about a man who had worn a make-up, feathers and heart-patterned underwear, and had used to beg little boys to hold their hands in his free time.

The Mink jumped from behind the wall before too much was said. He tightly grabbed the hand that Trafalgar Law stare at with such a look as if it deserved to be at least cut off and thrown to the sharks. "We'll be back in another half an hour," the navigator claimed firmly. "Please, don't forget about the hearts, madame!"

He saw his captain onto the street; this time Law didn't resist at all, he only walked supinely with his eyes fixed on the ground.

"It was the hearts, wasn't it? I did remember right?" Bepo asked.

"Of course it was the hearts," Law snapped. "What else might Corazon wear?! Potatoes?!"

"I once had the potato-patterned socks... It's not unreal! I'm sorry, Captain, but you can see such things!" the Mink explained.

Captain snorted angrily. "He didn't have potato-patterned socks. But he did as much holes in his socks as you. Once he even burned one with a cigarette, that blind clutz! He had feet big as hooves. But you at least can darn. And he? Well, for most of the time he wore knee-socks. Those single-use, elastic ones."

"Oh," the navigator said cautiously. Maybe it was good they hadn't mentioned it to the priestess.

"Disgusting," Law winced. Lost in memories, he was tapping his finger on his chin and didn't even notice that Bepo seated the two of them on a bench in the harbour. "Revolting. I told him I wouldn't wear anything like that. I forced him to buy me decent, thick, woolly checked knee-socks. He had to... Hmm."

He frowned, and Bepo hid his smile in the thick fur. His respect only growing, he thought of the distant, mythical figure of Donquixote Rosinante, who might have burned holes in his own socks but could make sure that the stubborn teenager kept his feet warm, too. The Mink touched his symbol of Corazon. It was all too late for garchuing now. Yet, he was glad to have heard a few embarrassing recollections and once more realised that they had a proper angel for a patron. The one wearing black feathers and heart-patterned braces.

In the meantime, Law, still deep in thought, kept staring at the gravelled path as intensely as if he planned to diagnose it with a calcification. "He did keep his hands behind his back, under his cloak, from time to time," he admitted reluctantly. "But it didn't look as charming as that picture showed. That woman drew some dandy! When Cora-san put his hands behind his back, he didn't look anything like that! He looked... Hmm."

Nonchalantly? Cheerfully? Casually? Bepo waited patiently. He hoped that Donquixote Rosinante had managed to enjoy that warmth that filled one's heart whenever Law let out that affectionate 'Cora-san'. Even a perfectly random polar bear Mink had to smile every time he heard it. So, how had Corazon used to keep his hands...?

"Kind of moronic."

Ah. Of course.

After half an hour they entered the shrine yard again. The priestess, wearing a Budda-like expression, presented the adjusted portrait.

"Eh?" Bepo was honestly astonished. The overly made-up blonde looked more or less like the navigator imagined him himself. His expression was still somewhat peculiar, as if the artist couldn't decide between a polite smile that every decent portrait required and a crazy grin that Captain Law's memory demanded. In result, the lips were strangely curved, but the rest actually fitted the description…?

"It doesn't fit at all," Law decided adamantly. He was staring at the picture as intensely as if he were to be rewarded for finding the differences between the portrait and its model. He kept rubbing his chin, squinting and looking the painted figure up and down in a suspicious manner as if he supposed it was a Marine officer stalking towards them in a pirate's disguise. Bepo hid his smile in a thick fur. It was good they hadn't ordered a portrait in a uniform. But, what was off this time?

"He has such a mean expression!" Law complained, apparently deeply affronted by that. "It's not right! He looks like a cold, calculating villain. He wouldn't be able to make that face even if he'd practised in front of a mirror for a whole year!"

"Did he use to practise?" Bepo asked, curious.

His captain shrugged, focused on the picture. "Not in my presence. Besides, after we left the Family, he didn't make any fake faces. He and his terribly honest, stupid smile! And what good did it do to him?" He pointed at the portrait in a accusative gesture. "No wonder he's so sour; that cigarette is hopeless. And isn't even lit."

"Smoking is hazardous," the priestess uttered from behind her table. Stoically calm, she arranged the paint jars according to their sizes, waiting out her client's critical remarks.

Law snorted angrily. "It sure was hazardous to him! He could burn half of his cloak with one butt! And that cloak is too threadbare! It won't to. It wouldn't make a decent fire. It's completely wrong. Once Cora-san tried to rinse the feathers in a petrol because in one doctor's office the roof had exploded and pitch had fallen on us. Petrol helped him to remove some of that filth, but of course that moron forgot about it right away and dropped the very next cigarette exactly on that spot. The flame was two metres high!"

"Oh my!" Bepo clutched at his head. "It's good you weren't hurt!"

Law looked down and pressed his lips together. "I wasn't," he grunted in annoyance. "He... He never set fire when I was sitting or sleeping under his cloak. And that day he flung himself on the flames to put them out right away. Such a moron! Even his eyebrows burned! A complete nut! He yammered that we wouldn't have anything to cover ourselves with at night!"

Bepo felt moved again. "You covered yourselves together with that feather cloak at night?"

The Surgeon of Death pressed his lips even tighter. "No, just me," he replied finally.

Bepo was moved even more. "Ah."

For a moment, they stared at the portrait in silence. It was still quite bad, but as a representation of a man never seen it seemed... Quite okay?

"Nooo." The Mink shook his head, troubled. "It really can't stay that way."

Trafalgar Law leaned down, pensive, and tapped one finger on the neat, unlit cigarette. "He was a lovely guy... I mean, a shiftless lunatic, and he smoked like a chimney," he stated, lost in memories. "Baby 5 and Buffalo used to tease him in thousand ways, but it was only once they stole his cigarettes. The whole Family crawled under their beds after the fuss he'd made. Even that fey Dellinger never touched Corazon's cigarettes." He shook his head. "You have to make something with that expression," he admonished the priestess. "He can't be so sour-faced! His smile... He had such a smile that... That..."

"Such a smile," Bepo took a step closer, "that you could paint it on a jolly roger and set out to conquer the world."

Silence.

Law neither affirmed nor denied. Nor did he scratch Bepo behind the ear. But the navigator knew well his captain had thought of it for a second. The white fur undulated with content.

"You need to correct his expression a little," the Mink smiled at the painter amiably. "And that cloak... Maybe you should... enrich it a bit? Did we overlook anything... Hands? Ah, not so important. But the hearts are first-class. Right, Captain?"

"They're okay," Law muttered. "But the hands are very important! You have to work on the hands, too!"

She rolled her eyes before looking at her undervalued creation. "What should I do with them? Put them aflame?"

"For that, Cora-san didn't need any help," the pirate assured her sourly. "I... I really demand adjustments!"

Bepo's ears perked up anxiously. He was ready to offer the priestess a nice bonus for her patience. Fortunately, it seemed that the self-proclaimed artist wasn't overburdened with orders. Without special enthusiasm, she nodded and shrugged.

"But it's the last time!" She lifted one finger. "And I must stress that it goes against my views, that smoking a cigarette! Smoking kills!"

"Yeah," Bepo agreed. "With lead bullets." He quickly grabbed Law by the waist and pushed towards the gate. "We'll come in one hour for the final version! Nice work!" he threw over his shoulder.

An hour passed quickly. They had to control whether Penguin and Shachi hadn't put down roots in the red light districts and Jean Bart hadn't replaced the pre-ordered rice flatbreads with butter rolls. It seemed, however, that all matters were handled appropriately and the crew avoided arguments, indigestion and paternity suits. Law sent everyone aboard and returned to the city without a word. Bepo waved at the companions.

"We'll be back in some fifteen minutes. There's just one thing to take care of it."

He followed his captain. It wouldn't take long. After all, it was the last revision in question.

Right...?

Trafalgar D. Water Law was staring at the portrait as if he hadn't seen it one hour ago nor the previous half an hour nor anytime before. Above all, he was staring the way he would certainly never stare at Corazon.

Bepo sighed heavily.

Actually, it could still take some time. Law turned speechless for a longer while, which didn't bode well. Oh my. And this time the expression was really... Pleasant? The Mink rubbed his head, concerned. He knew all to well how it would end. Captain wouldn't accept it without commentary.

"What's that supposed to be?!"

"Feathers. Black feathers."

"What has such feathers?! An ostrich, perhaps! Not Corazon, that's for sure!"

"But he had to have feathers..."

"But not those! They were soft and plumy! I loved those feathers!"

The priestess smacked her lips with disapproval. "A man shouldn't flash his feathers around. I drew the respectable feathers. I was inspired by Dracule Mihawk's hat. Now, he's a real man! We have his wanted poster in the washroom. He has a true man's feather!"

"Dracule Mihawk may shove his feather down his ass along with his sword and sit down on them!" Law barked at her, now clearly enraged. "Who cares about some Mihawk?! No-one could cover himself with his stupid feather! Megalomaniac with a hat hypertrophy! Idiotic, useless feather! And where did you take that expression from?! Gallant Cavendish's wanted poster, perhaps?!"

The priestess rubbed the chin of the elaborately painted blonde with an obvious satisfaction. His lips were put in a friendly duck face, and his cheeks had dimples. "You said he'd been a lovely guy."

In a split second, Trafalgar D. Water Law turned perfectly white. "I said something like that?!"

"Aw!" Bepo quickly jumped between his captain and the priestess. "There must be some misunderstanding. It was probably I who talked about lovely guys! It couldn't be Captain!" He was marching in place, swaying nervously and glaring at the woman, who, in the end, shrugged.

"A lovely guy should be kissy. A sexy dimple emphasizes a pleasant expression."

"Sexy... Dimple!" Law regained some colours... well, he turned blue in the face. "Pleasant expression! Kissy Corazon! Take that pathetic cartoon from my eyes!" Ha raised his fists as if he were to vent his anger on the paint jars but checked himself in the last moment. In an ostentatious manner, he turned on his heel to shelter himself from the portrait. Even his strained back indicated he was furious. "I don't even want to see that piece of crap!"

"It's really bad... I'm sorry but it didn't turn out well!" The Mink stared awkwardly at the author of the art of dubious quality. "He was a lovely guy, really... But I don't think he _looked_ lovely. Especially with a duck face and, um... Plume of ostrich feathers stuck in his bum...?"

He had to lean down and have a better look. She was quite creative, that painter from the shrine... But maybe in these parts they had a different photograph on the Dracule Mihawk's wanted poster, and wearing the plumes on the buttocks was considered a sign of male elegance...?

The priestess rolled her eyes. It seemed she didn't care much about the customers' complaints. "I did what I could. I even pulled the hands from behind his back!" She tapped at the portrait. "And I left that cigarette, even thought it's unpedagogical. Maybe-..."

"Maybe you better leave Corazon alone, okay?!" Law growled over his shoulder. "It was a hopeless idea, right from the start. Bepo, we're leaving. That caricature insults the memory of Corazon. He... He..."

Silence.

The strained back with the Corazon mark relaxed a bit.

"Cora-san would have a good laugh," the Surgeon of Death admitted sourly. "But he was a lunatic. While I need my sanity for some time yet. Let's go, Bepo."

He marched out of the yard without a single look at the miserable portrait. The polar bear Mink stared after him lovingly. His captain deserved to finally start forgetting some things. But some others, he would certainly never forget. That was why he was Bepo's captain.

There was still one business to take care of, but Bepo was prepared and dealt with it quickly. Soon, he caught up to Law to take his usual place of the fluffy, steadfast support by his side. The Surgeon of Death was still emanating anger that made the Mink's fur bristle under his suit.

"Duck face! Kissy face!" The man kept clenching his fists. "Sexy dimple! Corazon didn't have any bloody dimples!"

"Are you sure, Captain?" asked Bepo cunningly. "I mean... I'm sorry but... Are you sure?"

"Ugh!"

They walked in silence for a moment. Fury was slowly subsiding, replaced by a sour resignation. The tattooed fingers stretched and were laid on the pirate mark with smiling skull. Finally, Trafalgar D. Water Law tucked his hands into the pockets.

"I don't remember him having any... dimples?" He shook his head. "But I can still remember the important things!"

Bepo moved half a step closer. "Are you sure?"

The captain of the Heart Pirates rolled his eyes and let his navigator adjust the Corazon coat on his back.

"Maybe I won't forget those important things, after all."

*

Bepo waited patiently a whole day, and then another. At first, Law avoided the subject and, in general, any contact with others; later, nervousness made him nearly crawl up the walls as he tried to stifle the outburst. He broke on the third day, much to the navigator's relief. Bepo was on a night watch, behind the ship's wheel. Captain came to stop next to him; for a longer while, he said nothing, with his cap pulled over his eyes.

"We have to go back," he finally announced.

"Oh." Bepo shook his head, troubled. "I'm very sorry, Captain, but we're right between the currents. We'll be able to surface no sooner than in two days, and without surfacing I won't risk the change of course in these mad currents. It wouldn't do if we fell apart at such depths."

Trafalgar Law cursed nastily under his breath. His nōryoku was extremely powerful, but he couldn't shift the boat between the New World's currents as he pleased. Then again, Bepo knew these currents as well as the Surgeon of Death knew the human physiology. If he suggested two days, they had to wait two days.

"Damn it," Law shook his head, angry with himself. He should have done it earlier, instead of sulking like a brat. "We have to go back to that island. One week wasted! Damn it."

"Oh?" Bepo flattened his ears. "Sure, onigiri was delicious, but should we go miles back only for them? I'm sure we'll find some treats in the next harbour, too!"

The man glared at him; the atmosphere became dense, as if someone was getting ready to cut a patient's skin in an operating room. The Mink in an orange boiler suit pricked one white ear.

And yawned.

It was midnight. The captain and his navigator were on a night watch. They were surrounded by this not entirely silent silence, known only to the undersea sailors. Trafalgar D. Water Law lowered his head. He was a man. He could admit his mistakes. At least when no-one but Bepo could hear him.

"We must return to that shrine," he murmured in remorse. "I didn't take the portrait."

"Oh?" Mink scratched his ear. "That terrible one?"

Law pressed his lips tight. "It's the only portrait of Corazon I have!" he finally blurted out, frustrated. "What if that woman throws it away?"

"Well, right," the navigator agreed with him. "She didn't like it either, she valued it at mere ten belly. I bet she wouldn't care about it."

"Exactly!" Law caught at it. "What if she-..." He froze up upon realising what he'd just heard.

Bepo yawned again. His captain was staring at him distrustfully. In the end, he could no longer bear it.

"You asked her about the price?!"

"I'm sorry, Captain!" Bepo immediately started to explain himself. "I know it's a terrible drawing, unlike anything you saw, but since we had exactly ten belly left after the shashliks..."

Silence.

"It's the only portrait of Corazon I have," Law repeated, this time calmly. He tucked his hands into the pockets, and his shoulders relaxed a little.

Bepo stared at him lovingly. "Captaaaain..."

"Hm?"

"I put it in the chest in your cabin, but..."

"What?"

"It's such a horrible daubery!"

"I said it was terrible from the beginning."

"Right. Could you... I beg you, don't look at it too often! It's a horror!"

Trafalgar Law recalled the unique painting in his mind. Duck face, dimples, ostrich plumes and empty hands, stretched in vain towards the observers. The captain of the Heart Pirates shuddered at the very memory.

"I'm not going to look at it at all," he declared firmly. "Never, ever." He lowered his head and sighed. "I'd rather always remember him."

As he left, relieved and cheerful, Bepo put his paw on his chest, where the mark of the Heart Pirates was giving a full-toothed smile. Their long lost patron deserved to be thanked for Captain Law's smile. And the whole event, too. No-one needed to know that the navigator regularly glanced into his captain's chest to greet their patron.

It was such a crazy daub that one just had to love it.

**The end**


End file.
